Page 45 of Sinful Sorrow

“Um, excuse me. Hi.” Cato steps around to stand in my peripherals. “He didn’t get time to tell me goodnight.”

“He wasn’t gonna. And right now, I think I should take my own advice and head to bed.” Archer slips his hands beneath my thighs and picks me up. So easily. So smoothly. Humming his pleasure when my arms automatically go around his neck. “It’s only eight, Mayet. So I’d say it’s time we turn the TV on in the room and get some rest.”

I narrow my eyes and smile as he leaves his brother behind and walks into the hall. “We don’t have a TV in the room.”

“Don’t we?” He nips at my bottom lip and crosses the threshold. “Shit, babe. Guess I’m gonna have to find something else to concentrate on.” He kicks the door closed and stops at the end of our bed. Then he drops me, smirking when I fall onto the mattress and the covers puff up around me. “I could focus on your tits.” He climbs over me and begins unbuttoning my blouse. “Or your belly button. Which is kind of an innie, but kind of an outtie.” He spreads my shirt wide to expose my stomach, then he bites at my skin, just rough enough to draw a tiny squeal from the back of my throat. “It’s my duty, as your husband, to inspect every inch of your body. To ensure all is as it should be.”

“It’s strange for us to be home, and in bed, so early on a non-infusion night.”

He flicks the button of my pants open and drags the zipper down. “Married life.” He rolls his eyes, though the action is all for show. “Time for us to settle down and pick our favorite Golden Girl, don’t you think?”

“I don’t…” I was following along. Playing. But now my brain sticks to that one point and steals what was heading toward fun. “What’s a Golden Girl?”

He tears my pants down, grinning and shaking his head. “We’ll get a TV in the room some other day and I’ll show you. Now pay attention to me.”

“So needy.”

ARCHER

Iwake the next morning to a bed already empty and the shower switching off. Which means I missed the window where I could join my wife.

With that opportunity gone, I rush out from under the sheets instead and into the hall so I can make her coffee.

If I don’t get to fuck her, then I feed and caffeinate her.

It’s a system that works.

I step out of the mouth of the hall and into our living room to find Cato already dressed for the day. The television is on, but instead of the news, he watches an old Knicks game on the sports channel.

He still looks like a kid when he’s not aware of an audience. His hair, shaggy and his mouth dropped open as he watches McBride sink a basket. His eyes, the same color as mine, though not the same shape, focus entirely on his second favorite team in all the NBA—second only because he intends to play for the Condors, and loyalty to a Malone is important. When he sits on the arm of the couch, his feet on the cushions and his elbows on his thighs, he looks smaller than his over six-foot frame.

He’s still growing.

For as long as he trains as often as he is, and his metabolism runs as fast as it does, he’ll stay a little skinny. But he doesn’t seem to mind, considering he’s one of the fastest dudes on the court, and his three-point shot is accurate to the nth degree.

“I know you’re staring at me.” Slowly, he drags his eyes away from the TV and blinks to clear his vision. Then he flashes a playful grin, because the bathroom door opens behind me and Minka steps out in a towel and wafting steam. She turns right to head to the room, and I continue across to the kitchen. “You often stare at me, creep? Or is this a new habit?”

“Just observing you. I’m a detective. It’s what I do.” I stop by the coffee machine and reach up to snag a mug. “Been awake long?”

“Woke up when the shower went on.” He unfolds his legs and comes around the couch with slow steps. He’s not rushing anywhere, and our apartment is so small, no one really needs to move more than a few steps to transition into a new room. “You getting close to solving that dead girl’s murder yet?”

My brows pinch tight as I place the mug under the coffee spout and hit the button to get it started. Then I turn my back to the machine and lean against the counter. “You have an interest in the case of the girl you saw around, but didn’t really know?”

He shrugs, mirroring my pose, but leaning against the back of the couch. “Kinda makes me think about my mom. Still a teenager. Baby in her belly. At least Tim let her live long enough to give birth, I suppose. Though I’m not sure which is more merciful.”

“Having your baby taken from you and then murdered,” I ponder. “Or being murdered while the infant remains inside. Both scenarios are pretty fucked up. You have anything to add from your observations at school?”

He folds his arms and lifts the pair in a shrug. “Not really. I’ve known Mason and Brent for half a semester, and I was already pretty sick of hearing about how much the dude loved her.”

“Sick of it, like he was loud and full of shit? Or sick of it, like he was annoyingly obnoxious and someone else wanted him to shut up, too?”

“Sick of it, like I see you and Minka, and Felix and Christabelle. And now Micah and Tiia, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe we’re not all supposed to be like our father. I’ve spent my whole life thinking women were for fucking and sending home.”

“And now?”

“I’m wondering where my Tiia-slash-Christabelle-slash-Minka is. She exists. She’s already alive and somewhere in this world. Which means she’s exposed. Who is taking care of her right now while I can’t?”

“Wow.” Surprised, I turn back to the coffee when it stops pouring and swap it for a second, empty mug. “You’re in love with your future someone, and you haven’t even met her yet?”

---